- Dec 5, 2010
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Lichen on the cracked quartz boulder,
that I lean on like a shoulder.
Fallen berry branch 'neath my feet,
So I bend and pick up the treat.
An unctuous smell of berries scenting,
bees at work and not fomenting.
Fragrant grasses in the clearing bend,
while bowing to this gentle friend.
With my hand astride this large white rock,
and the wind, the grass, my words in mock.
I find my way towards the shiny stream,
and wash my socks inside this scene.
I thought I'd post this in here as it might not get much laughter in the flame zone. A few edits, but that's the fun of writing.
